Close Your Eyes
by ThereIsNaught
Summary: I close my eyes. We are eleven and she is flying. She has always been flying, but today, it is almost literal. My hands press gently against her back, and she soars, giggling, her arms stretching out as if she could embrace the world in a moment. I smile.
1. You Always Had Me

Her fingers tiptoe up and down, fleeting moments of heat with each touch. I am perched upon the edge of my seat, legs sitting comfortably in her lap. I watch her, cautiously, carefully, eyes flickering from the slight curve in her bangs to the bend of her wrist. She is looking somewhere to the left, probably lost in her endless imagination as her hands run the length of my calves absentmindedly. I am oblivious to the stares of the others; this is nothing new. She and I have always been like this. I smile, melting into the sensation of her fingers on my skin. I close my eyes.

_We are eleven and she is flying. She has always been flying, but today, it is almost literal. My eyes follow blonde hair floating in space as she goes higher, strands curling around each cheek as she comes back down. Her hands are wrapped tightly around the metal chains holding her seat up, feet dangling in the air. She returns, and my hands press gently against her back, less than a second to memorize how the muscles fit into my palms. She is flying again, giggling as she soars, arms stretching out as if she could embrace the world in a moment._

_"San!" She twists her head, an easy smile spread across her face as she tries to look at me._

_"San! I can't see you!" Her joy caresses my face, urging a smile on. I laugh softly, pushing her as she comes flying back to me._

_"Of course you can't, B. I'm behind you." She makes a face, scrunching up her nose in the way that tugs at something inside me ever so gently. _

_"Well, fix it! I want to see you!" I laugh again, walking around to face her, making sure to give her a wide berth so that she doesn't accidentally kick me._

_"Well, now I can't push you!" She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut, smiling._

_"I don't mind. As long as I can see you." She is still swinging, each arc becoming smaller and smaller. I smile, a familiar warmth spreading through me. I walk towards her as she comes to an almost stop. Her legs stretch out and wrap around me, pulling me in. She giggles._

_"Gotcha." I smile at her, my eyes immediately drawn to hers. She throws her arms around me, eyes sparkling as her fingers entertwine at the base of my neck. My hands drift, fingers tiptoeing up her thighs. They come to rest at her waist, my palms curving around her hipbones comfortably. Not for the first time, I wonder how everything just works between us. Maybe it is because we are best friends. But her eyes interrupt my mental queries, searching my face. Something flickers through her eyes, and I cannot tell what it is._

_"San?"_

_"B?"_

_"Close your eyes."_

_"Why-"_

_"Just do it!" I give her a look of confusion. She is never demanding, always asking. She winks at me, amused at how she has once again caught me off-guard._

_"Cmon, San. Please?" I cannot resist her pout, and close my eyes. Her lips press against mine gently, more of a statement than a question. But I have no answers, and hold my breath instead, fingers pressing down around her hips. Then she is pulling away, my eyes shooting open instantly at the lack of contact. I look at her, my eyebrows pushing together confusedly._

_"B...?" She just smiles and reaches out, rubbing at the center of my forehead with one finger, smoothing the tension from my face._

_"I just wanted to see you."_

I open my eyes. She is looking at me, her eyebrows pushed together, concerned.

"San? Where did you go?" I smile and reach out, rubbing at the center of her forehead with one finger, smoothing the tension from her face. My fingertips linger on her cheek before dropping back to my lap. I look down, blushing slightly.

"I went to see you." I do not elaborate further, knowing that she will understand what I mean. She smiles, her eyes immediately lighting up.

"Gotcha!" She claps her hands together, more than pleased that she has managed to catch me daydreaming again. I laugh, shaking my head gently.

"You always had me." She grins happily, reaching out with her pinky, sliding it into the crook of mine. I curl it gently. She looks up at me, expectant, hope lining the corners of her eyes.

"So you're mine?" She begins pressing her fingers between mine, and my eyes widen, pulling my hand back before she can continue. I swing my legs off her lap, crossing them, establishing personal space. Her face falls, broken.

"I...I can't...I just...no." I look away, teeth settling into my lip, pushing just hard enough so that the throbbing pain is the only pain I am aware of. She stands, crossing her arms. I can feel her gaze on the back of my neck, and I refuse to meet her eyes. All I can hear is the quiet tapping of her shoes and the swoosh of the door as she leaves.


	2. She's Right

She's avoided me ever since. A particularly loud crash rips through my right eardrum, and I whip around, seeing her slam her locker closed and walk off for rehearsal. I wince at the sound, and follow her.

"Wait, B! What's wrong? What did I do?" I place my hand on her left shoulder, gently pulling her around to face me. She pivots faster than I can follow, her hair almost hitting me, unadulterated rage painted across her face.

"Nothing, Lopez." She spits out my last name like acid on her tongue. It hits me straight in the chest, a solid thump that makes me stumble backwards, almost tripping over my own feet.

"...Britt?" She is once again the only person who can find me at a loss for words. Her eyes flash.

"What? I don't have to follow you around all the fucking time." I take another step backwards. She never swears. Never. My knees shake, daring my own body to keep itself upright, a true testament to what willpower can accomplish. I open my mouth and mentally order myself to say something. Unsurprisingly, I have nothing, and she shakes her head, now both angry and disappointed.

"I...We...Follow...No...best friends..." I feel a hitch behind my throat, my eyes fighting a battle between focusing on her and focusing on not crying. She blinks twice, once to process my lack of words, and again to challenge me to continue. I am more than aware that it is a trap, but my tongue powers on, a dangerous combination of upset and angry.

"We...We can't. Britt, I...I have a reputation to uphold! I worked my ass off to get to the top of the pyramid! What the hell do you think everyone will say? What don't you understand? We can't just do this and throw everything away. We'll turn into Lima losers, just like that! We need this. We need to be on top, because if we're not on top, we're at rock bottom. I can't protect you from rock bottom! And if I can't protect you, who will? God, B, not everyone is as bleedingly nice as you are!" My words exit my mouth twisted, harsher than I had intended, word vomit. My eyes plead with her to understand, to open her own eyes. She has always been black and white, so infuriatingly determined to make everything seem as easy as sliding our pinkies together. It makes me nauseous, fear bubbling just under my tongue. It makes me frustrated, curling my fingers into each other, squeezing until my skin is red and white. It makes me want to...well, it doesn't matter what I want. She has always been the pusher; I have always been the push-away.

She stands, frozen, her lip slightly curled in that way that means she is wholly untouchable.

"Britt-Britt...please..., I didn't mean it to come out like-" I use my childhood nickname for her, hoping to glean some reminiscent sympathy, but she is too far gone, cutting me off with a deadly whisper.

"My. Name. Is. Brittany." Her voice shoots straight through my ribcage, a serrated dagger, twisting with each word. She yanks the dagger out and turns, striding away. My hands fly to my chest as I cough, splutter, frozen.

I stumble to rehearsal, my bag falling out of my hand before I reach my seat next to her. We have always sat together. She inspects the pleats in her cheer uniform, distinctly making it clear that I am not to speak to her. My hands wipe at my face furiously, a last attempt to seem okay, a state of being that I am only vaguely familiar with. I fall into my seat, digging my thumbnails into the pads of my index fingers. I close my eyes.

_We are eight and she is hanging upside down, knees curled tightly around a blue metal bar. I sit at the bottom of the slide next to the bars, looking up at her curiously. She smiles, letting her arms stretch down towards the ground, fingers barely sifting through the tanbark. I sigh softly, wishing I were that slender. She has always been lean, her body constantly drawing perfect lines in space. Me? I am currently five inches shorter than her, and slightly stocky, constantly reminded of this fact every time she cheerily offers to share her clothes with me. I always smile weakly and shake my head, and she always nods, understanding. One day, maybe._

_I have little time to muse further, as the boy I hate more than Rachel Berry on vocabulary test days approaches her. She has her eyes closed, humming her favorite song. It is about a duck and a turtle, but he doesn't know that. He lets out a derisive snort, glaring at her. _

_"What the hell are you singing, Pierce?" She smiles, not opening her eyes._

_"Well, there's a duck and-"_

_"It's stupid, isn't it? Just like you." Her eyes fly open, shocked, rosy lips turning downwards. Her knees lose their grip as she falls, hands scrabbling to turn herself upright. Her instincts are half a second too slow, and she lands on her side, curling into a tiny ball. He steps towards her, and I leap off of the slide, barreling into him with as much force as I can muster, hands shaking angrily. He weighs a good twenty pounds more than me, my movements hardly setting him off-balance, so I turn to my words._

_"She's not stupid, Dave, you are! Take your big fat head and go pick on the hobbit!" He turns to me, and with one push of his meat hands, shoves me onto the ground next to her. I let out a hard breath, feeling the bite of several pieces of tanbark digging into my calf. She is still curled, vibrating slightly. She has never been one for confrontation, and the "s word" never fails to destroy her. Before I can scramble to my feet, he steps over me and sends a vicious kick to her back, laughing as he walks away._

_I finally get up, my chest burning. Too slow, you were too slow. She doesn't have anyone else, and you were too slow. I drop to my knees in front of her, resting one hand on her shoulder lightly. She instinctively shivers away from the touch._

_"Britt-Britt? It's just me, San. He's gone. He's not coming back." At least not today. My jaw shakes. I should have been faster. I should have stopped him. I should have let him kick me instead. Not you. Never you._

_Her eyes open a crack and I can feel her muscles untensing slightly, her silent way of telling me it's okay to touch her. I pull her into my arms clumsily, kissing her cheek, shaking so hard that I almost miss, my lips grazing against her ear. She is still vibrating, pressing up against me, needing a place to hide. I tuck her face into my chest, not wanting her to see him across the playground, laughing with the others. My fingers pull up the edge of her shirt gently, revealing a dark blue-purple splotch. I tug her shirt back down quickly. My mouth twitches, my lower lip trembling. I've done this. I was too slow and now she has a mark to prove it._

_"I'm sorry, Britt-Britt. Please." I need her to hear me, to forgive me. I was too slow. Too slow. He hurt you and I was too slow._

_"I'm so sorry." She nods, a movement so imperceptible that I almost miss it. As always, she forgives me._

_But I haven't forgiven myself. _

I open my eyes.

"I would just like to say that from now on, I demand to have every solo in Glee club." Her words echo through the room, silent disbelief. She ignores this and continues.

"When I had my teeth cleaned, I had the most amazing Britney Spears fantasy. I sang and danced better than her. Now I realize what a powerful woman I truly am." She says this so matter-of-factly, her confidence higher than usual, not giving me even a glance. She hadn't talked to me at the dentist's either, only playing nice to get him to put us under. I'd been blessed with a moment of forgiveness immediately afterwards, quickly snapped back to reality as soon as she realized that her sex appeal would be a horrifyingly effective method of punishing me.

I look down, hearing her message clearly. She. Doesn't. Need. Me.

But I need her. So I open my mouth.

"I went with her, and I had a Britney fantasy, too. Although now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not really sure how our fantasies combined..." I trail off lamely, realizing that my attempt at reconciliation was much less useful than I'd thought it might be. She turns to smirk at me, and I smile back, a reflex that I've not been able to hold back. My smile falls as my brain catches up with her thought process, looking down again. She has an intimate knowledge of the effect her body has on me, as well as my inability to resist my hormones. She laughs gently, knowing I've fallen neatly into her trap.

"I'm more talented than all of you. It's Brittany." Her face is controlled, only solidifying the truth behind her statements. I blush angrily, digging my thumbnails even deeper, wanting to kick myself.

"...Bitch."

I freeze. She cocks her head slightly, enjoying every moment of her revenge. My fingers begin shaking harder than ever, trying to make up for the fact that my insides twisted into a black and painful kidney stone. I want more than ever to say something back, but I cannot.

**She's right.**


	3. Not You

She **still** hasn't spoken to me and I feel more lost than her summer in the sewers. Which is really fucking lost. So I throw myself into cheer. And what have I gained? Perhaps a few glances from Sue that actually **don't** resemble a panther about to sink her teeth into her prey. Whoopdeefuckinghoo. My head hangs, realizing the entire effort is futile. I am at the bottom of the pyramid either way, literally and figuratively.

My pinky finger trails along the crease of my duffel bag as I pull the zipper closed. I flex my toes experimentally, making sure they still work after a Cheerios practice so grueling that I am certain it is illegal. Pushing back a strand of hair behind my ear, I cross my ankles under the locker room bench, staring blankly at the wall of metal in front of my face. I consider going home. I also consider the fact that I have an astounding lack of motivation to do any such thing.

"San?" Her quiet voice sneaks into the corner of my ear, sliding down into the (admittedly large) section of my heart that I've been unable to harden. The sound is overwhelming, and my legs feel likely to propel myself into her arms. But that sort of action is reserved for people in her good graces and the only other option I can think of is to be cold. So I fix my gaze on locker number I-can't-focus-long-enough-to-read-the-label-when-she's-finally-talking-to-me-after-two-weeks. I say nothing.

"San, I made a card for Kurt. I want you to see it. Please?" My lip quivers, a resounding "yes!" just underneath my tongue. I press my lips together, firmly holding it back. She called you a bitch, remember? Not mean, not intimidating, but a bitch. My front teeth cut into my lower lip, locking myself into silence.

"...Pretty please?" She sits next to me, our thighs dangerously close.

"…San?" She nudges my shoulder with her own. I am not looking at her, but I know she has that face on. I turn to look at her, and true enough, the effortlessly convincing pout that she has mastered is gracing her lips, a perfectly arched downwards curve. Despite internal pleadings, I cannot look away, fully placing the blame for my moment of weakness on her intoxicating beauty.

I nod slightly. Her pout melts into a flawless smile, one I haven't seen since, well, it's hard to remember details like that when her joy makes me feel dizzy with relief. She giggles, her ponytail bouncing, as she fumbles around in her backpack. She eventually pulls out the card, handing it to me, our pinkies brushing slightly in the handoff. My heart jumps at the accidental touch and I take the card, my fingers shaking.

"Heart attacks are just from loving too much," she reads, the hope in her voice giving away her intentions.

Heart attack. Love. Too much.

The entire room wobbles, spinning erratically as I realize what she is trying to say.

Love. Too much.

Love.

I whirl around, facing her, my eyes slightly out of focus.

"Oh, Britt..." She grins and wraps her arms around me, kissing my cheek. I can feel her lips curve into a smile, her nose pressed flush against my ear. I melt into her arms, vindicated. Words finally form in my head. Not an apology, I know she's already forgiven me. Not an explanation, I know she is willing to overlook my choices, even if she doesn't understand why they aren't mistakes. Not any of these things, but real words, the dangerous triple play combination pushing its way out.

"Britt, I-" She cuts me off with warm lips. I gasp, my hands immediately shooting towards her hips, pulling her towards me. She sucks on my lower lip greedily, one arm sweeping my duffel bag off of the bench before she pushes me down roughly, my back slamming against the hard surface. I can feel her straddling me, the insides of her knees fitting neatly into the curve of my hips. Her tongue traces the edge of my lip at a teasingly slow pace, hips grinding down into my stomach simultaneously. I lift my head up, desperate for more. She pulls away slightly, giving me a taste of my own signature smirk. I shake my head and laugh. As if the room hasn't been spinning enough already.

She grins and hops off of me. I pout. She raises one eyebrow, an excruciatingly naughty glint in her eye.

"See you at home!" She grabs her backpack and the card, and skips off, but not before turning her head to wink at me. I groan and bite my lip, tasting lemonade on my tongue.

I close my eyes.

_We are five and she stands in front of me, arms crossed._

_"What's that, San?" She cocks her head, confused. I look down at my drink with wide eyes._

_"It looks like pee. That's gross." I didn't think it looked like pee, but now that she points it out, I am a little afraid. Nevertheless, I am valiant, defending my choice in liquid sugar._

_"S'lemonade, B." She steps closer, peering into my cup, suspicious._

_"What's lemonade?" I look up at her, my mouth falling open. I am sure she is joking, but the look in her eyes tells me she really isn't._

_"You don't know what lemonade is?" She shakes her head, blonde hair twirling in the air to fall neatly around her shoulders. I giggle excitedly and hand her the drink. She takes it, but only to inspect it further, her small hands barely fitting around the cup._

_"Try it! It's really good!" She shakes her head again, and I cross my arms. She looks up at me and sighs in frustration, knowing I won't rest until she does. She lifts the cup quickly, accidentally stabbing herself in the cheek with the straw. She huffs, her tongue circling around to catch it in her mouth. I watch curiously as she sips._

_A few moments go by, and she's still drinking._

_"Um...B? You only need to try a little." She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling as if she's discovered Hogwarts._

_A few more moments pass, and she finally stops, jumping up and down happily as she grins at me._

_"That's the best thing ever!" She laughs. I smile, satisfied, and reach out for the cup, but she darts out of my reach._

_"Nope!" She runs off, giggling. I shake my head._

_I'm not getting my lemonade back, am I?_

I open my eyes.

"San, it's getting dark. Stop dreaming about me; I'm right here. Do you want your sweet lady kisses or not? Because I can just go home..." I watch as that sinful pout falls across her face and immediately jump up, slinging my duffel across my shoulders and taking her hand.

The walk home is nauseatingly cliche. I take long strides, my heart skipping, much like her feet. She has never taken control like this before and I am more than pleasantly surprised, still having to remember how to breathe every time she squeezes my hand.

We pound upstairs, giving my mother a very hurried wave as she greets us from the kitchen. Upon reaching my room, I hurl my bag at the floor. I lock the door, turning to find her carefully setting her backpack on top of my dresser. I smile at her nimble fingers, tiptoeing up behind her and pressing my lips to the back of her neck.

"B...Now..." I blow hot air against her ear, tilting my head to take her earlobe between my lips. She gasps, and presses herself back against me, her body fitting neatly into mine. I smile, gently tugging her hands away from the straps on her backpack. I turn her around and walk her backwards, my hands running down her sides. She sighs into my mouth, lips claiming what has always been hers, obediently climbing onto the bed.

I lower myself on top of her, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, and simply look. My eyes trace every inch of her face, memorizing and rememorizing the careful upwards turn of her nose, the exact shade of her lips, somewhere between a light coral and rose pink. Her right hand trails down my back, fingers pressing down around my shoulder blade while her other hand sneaks up the base of my neck, tangling itself in my hair.

She captures my lips, but I pull away. I lean in again, and she turns her head to receive my lips, but I move to kiss her cheek, letting my lips run down her jawbone, tasting the beginning of her neck. She is a butterfly, delicate beauty. She deserves only the most sensual treatment and the pounding of my heart tells her that I want to give her that and everything more.

"I love your sweet lady kisses," she murmurs softly, smiling against my cheek.

"Mhmm..." I mumble, preferring to prove her point rather than discuss it. I continue placing kisses along her neck, my tongue deftly flicking out every so often.

"We should do a duet together." I roll my eyes and slide my lips down onto her shoulder, hoping that maybe if I just ignore her, she'll be quiet.

"We should do Melissa Etheridge's 'Come to My Window.'" I freeze.

Oh, I **know** who Melissa Etheridge is. She's the biggest lesbo ever to hit rock music, and I love that fucking song almost as much as terrorizing waitresses at Breadstix. It's the only gay song that I've allowed myself to download to my computer. Of course, only underneath about seventeen sub-folders and various passwords; I can't trust technology with this closet I've built myself.

But now she wants to **sing** it? In front of **people**? **Together**?

If I'm not careful, Brittany will send both of us off into the deep end of homosexuality and we'll have to start wearing flannel in various shades of red and chop off our hair. Sue will probably kick us off the Cheerios, and that shit is worse than being at the bottom of the pyramid. Fuck that. I can't let that happen. I mean, **I** could probably handle it fine; I'm Santana fucking Lopez.

But what I **can't** handle, is seeing another bruise on Brittany's back. My fingers clench at the memory, having never forgiven Karofsky for that one. **Nobody** touches her. Not like that and not in any other way. Our friendship has privileges, ones that only **I** get. I bite the inside of my cheek, not knowing any other way to vent my frustration at the fact that if I want to keep her, I cannot have her.

I stage a hasty intervention. The plan is flawed and bound to backfire, but I know that if I don't do it now, she will start pushing, her long fingers reaching inside me and squeezing until I forget that consequences exist.

"Okay, first of all. There's a lot of talking going on, and I wants to get my mack on." I glare at her, cocking my head. Don't push me. Not now.

"Well, I just-" She pushes.

"And second of all..." I push back, pushing myself off of her and sitting on the edge of the bed. Clearly, she isn't getting the message. It makes my stomach twist to even imagine what I'm about to say, but I take a deep breath.

This is for us. This is for us. This is for us.

"I'm not making out with you because I'm **in love with you**," I spit out, the edge of my tongue turning the last four words a little more cold and sarcastic than they had previewed in my head.

"...And want to sing about making lady babies. I'm only here because Puck's been in the slammer for about twelve hours now, and I'm like a lizard. I need something warm beneath me or I can't digest my food." The rest comes out in a cruel stream of cutting dishonesty. I can sense her face falling, eyelashes fluttering as she tries to process my rejection. My head begins to throb, an intense pain forming just behind my eyes, but I begin pulling my hair back into a ponytail. I am making myself decent, proper, emphasizing the space between me and her because if I allow myself to taste her lips even one more time, I don't think I'll be able to stop.

"...But who are you going to sing a duet with?"

Her broken voice is a scoreboard. I've won. My lungs let out a breath, one I was unaware of having held tight. I force myself to smirk, knowing that everything is back to how it used to me. Should be. Will be. As long as I keep us in check. This is for us. I repeat it over and over to myself. This is for us. If I say it often enough, maybe it will become true, or at least give me reason to pretend that it is.

The elastic band in my hair is secure, but I continue stretching it around one more time. Two more times. Three more times. My fingers stumble in the process, clumsy in my hurry to push down any and all temptations to glide back onto the bed and pull her legs around my waist, nestle my lips against her ear, whispering the deadly three word combination that I'd not been able to get out earlier.

Her question hangs in the air, an unspoken invitation to take back everything I've said, to rewind and forget, to maybe, one day, forgive.

I can't sing **with** her, but she has to know that I always sing **for** her. Always. No matter what I am about to say.

So who am I going to sing a duet with?

Her words echo, one last chance.

This is for us. This is for us. This is for us.

"Not **you**."


	4. And So We Go

The whirr of the bell surges into my ears. I stand, clutching my textbook to myself so tightly that I cannot tell whether my inability to breathe is because of the pressure on my chest or the fact that they are all saying she fucked Stubbles McCripplespants. Oh, I know his name. Personifying him would mean admitting to myself that I am losing her. Which isn't happening. He's just Stubbles McCripplespants, a stupid boy.

I nod.

Heel, ball, toe. Heel, ball, toe. My legs move robotically, ninety-degree angles at each turn around the rows of desks. I consider joining the military. Might as well channel the vast expanse of nothing within my stomach into something more productive.

I reach the edge of the room only to realize that I am still clinging to the textbook like a shield. My eyes shoot downwards, willing my fingers to unclench, one by one. I put the book on top of the stack, accidentally setting it slightly askew. I consider lining it up with the others, but I have never been very good at straightening things out.

Chatter swirls around me as I exit, folding my arms together to disguise how they tend to hang lifelessly at my sides these days. I almost trip over a freshman and realize that it would probably be a good idea for me to actually pay attention to where my legs lead me, autopilot or no. My eyes lift slowly, zooming in on a flash of blonde hair.

It is her. With him.

My feet refuse to bring me any closer to the scene that is making my insides writhe uncomfortably. I watch, eyes noting the exact angle at which she has to bend in order to push him around. I feel ill. I think about what angle she has to bend her pinky to fit around mine.

She turns, releasing one handle of his wheelchair, her eyes locking on mine. My nails dig into my arms, sure to leave crescent-shaped reminders of how the color blue can feel so, **so** cold. She points to each of her breasts and shakes her finger. Then she leaves.

With him.

My gaze drops to the floor, along with my misguided hopes that the rumors were, for once, incorrect.

They were right. They were **all** right.

I close my eyes.

_We are fifteen and she has finally remembered her locker combination._

_"Fifteen, because that's how old we are. Twenty-seven because that's how many Disney movies I made you watch on my birthday. And nine, because that's how many planets there are." She smiles happily, bouncing up on her toes. I laugh and cock an eyebrow._

_"B...there are only eight planets now." She looks at me funny, her brow scrunching up._

"_I know, but Pluto is the cutest one!" I consider her response for a second, then nod, deciding that this is probably more valid of an explanation than any researcher could give. She grins and pulls her locker open, a notebook balancing perilously off the top shelf. I move to take it but before I can, it falls. I watch its descent, barely aware of someone wheeling up to catch it in his lap._

_"You dropped this." He hands it to her, smiling. She turns and takes it._

_"Thanks! You're Arthur, right? You're in my drawing class!" He frowns._

_"Artie, and uh, that class is math."_

_"Yes, but all I do is draw!" She gives him a cheery smile, oblivious to the confusion bleeding across his face._

_"Oh...that's cool! I uh, I guess I'll see you tomorrow in uh, well, drawing!" He laughs nervously and begins wheeling away. She waves. I glare, wanting his sweater vest to shrink like a vice around his torso._

_That book was __**mine **__to catch._

I open my eyes.

My mouth sets into a hard line as I realize what I have to do. I stride towards the cafeteria, knowing that she will prefer to spend lunch with the Cheerios rather than him. Sure enough, I break through the doors to see that disgusting profile parked right up next to the line.

"She's using you for your voice. That's the only reason she had sex with you." I come up behind him, razor blades slicing through that horrifying sweater vest. He looks genuinely shocked, immediately sitting back in his wheelchair. It's not like she has told me any such thing, but that **has** to be the reason. She only wants me…Right?

"Wait, how do you know that?" I roll my eyes. He, like most of the male population, has proven my theory that boy are irrevocably stupid. I turn to a boy passing by. He is tall, fairly muscular, wearing a hideous olive green zippered sweater. I don't know his name, I venture a guess at soccer player and therefore, probably one of her many conquests.

"Hi. Excuse me, do you know Brittany?" My voice is demanding, spitting her name into his chest hard enough to make him stop.

"Cheerios Brittany?" Clearly, he has been with more than one.

"Mhmmm." I nod, smirking, already knowing what is to come.

"Yeah, we had sex." He shrugs and leaves. I whirl around, facing Handicapped and kneeling down to get all up in his grill.

"Look. I don't mean to be a bitch." Well, that's a lie.

"Well, yeah, actually I do. But the only thing you can give Brittany, that she can't get somewhere else-" Somewhere else, like me.

"-Is super choice parking." I give him a sarcastic smile, cocking my head and leave him to boil over my words. The bell rings, and I am already late for rehearsal. My glare parts the crowd like Moses and a sea that I am too upset to remember the color of. I can smell the breadsticks already, the aroma lifting my mood half a notch.

But of course, the blonde, blue-eyed duo wins. I'm fairly certain that race was a factor; why else wouldn't this combination of a smoking hot Latina and true soul sister win? But really, I couldn't care less. I am just glad to have an excuse to vent my rage over more pressing matters. My attempt to make Trouty Mouth's face run into my fist gets cockblocked by Aretha, and I storm out, stopping the instant I get outside the door, my back slamming against the wall of lockers. The metallic clang masks her footsteps as she approaches me, standing far too close for me to successfully ignore her.

"What, he couldn't get your sheet music off the top shelf?" The question erupts from my throat, furiously sarcastic. My legs are shaking, struggling with the effort it takes to keep myself from admitting that I am jealous. Because I'm not.

She just looks at me sadly.

"San, you know he can't stand up." My insult sails over her head, her kindness ripping through me far faster and more deeply than any offensive remark. She has always blessed me with the benefit of the doubt, always hoping that I am confused, not cruel. I wonder why she even talks to me and then remember that she hasn't been lately. I lower my eyes to the floor, ashamed to be in her presence.

"He dumped me." Her voice breaks, sadness spilling through. Her toe inches forward, the edge of her shoe pressing against mine briefly before scooting backwards. I look up, unwilling to meet her gaze for fear that it will give me away.

"I'm sorry you didn't win," she offers, her head tilting forwards. I can feel her eyes searching for mine. I have already taken one thing from her; I cannot bring myself to do it again. My eyes move upwards, slowly, one stair at a time. They trip over her barely parted lips, the flush in her cheeks, the pink hue at the end of her nose, the red streaks in her eyes, the space between her eyebrows smaller than usual, the part in her hair on the wrong side. She's been crying and I need only look in a mirror to find the blame.

I shift my weight off of the wall and reach out, hands easily slipping through her hair, parting it on the correct side, my fingers curling around her ear when I finish. She turns her head ever so slightly, fitting her cheek into the curve of my palm. I finally look at her as she steps forward, the blue of her eyes suddenly warm. My eyes dart away, assessing our surroundings to verify that we are alone before coming back to her. Mistake. She looks at me, her eyes a shade less bright than before, understanding that I have not changed. She moves her arm, hand sliding up over mine, and my thumb caresses her cheek. I meet her gaze.

Please.

I look at her, desperately trying to apologize without saying a word.

Please.

I'm sorry.

She looks at me, considering.

Please.

She nods and tucks her pinky into mine, letting our hands fall to our sides.

I smile weakly. I know I've been selfish. I know that I've caused the ten-degree droop in her shoulders, the three-millimeter drag in her step, and the immeasurable pain in the voice that she cannot bring herself to use. I know that she will always forgive me. And for that, I know that I will never forgive myself.

And so we go.


	5. She Tastes Like Home

**A/N; Okay, so it took a while. The onslaught of angst from the last three chapters made me feel all bleugh about updating. Also, this chapter took forever to write. Enjoy! My email inbox is slammed with notifications of people subscribing, so I know I'm not telling a story to a wall. Hint: Me gustan reviews. ;)**

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><p>It is two weeks later and I cannot tell whether the touch of her hand is affectionate or an unwitting reminder of my selfishness. She hasn't spoken to him since, and instead sends him glares in hallways, the anger in her eyes bordering on evil. And I know this isn't how it should be. I feel as if I've corrupted her, used my selfishness and twisted her gentle soul into something unrecognizable. I know she isn't mine; I just…<strong>wanted<strong> her. I don't know how to fix what I've broken, but know that a clumsy attempt is necessary.

I've talked her into a double date with Puckerman and Wheels. The turmoil in my stomach that surges up at the idea reminds me of why I religiously avoid doing "the right thing." But I cannot bring myself to tell her what I've done. I spend my time constantly questioning where I am finding the strength to push her into another's arms, or well, lap. She deserves so much more than he could even comprehend giving her. I hardly deserve her, either, but I can only hope that bringing them together will be the first step towards atonement.

It's been an excruciating hour at Breadstix in a booth several sizes too small for both Puckerman's ego and my raging jealousy. It is hardly a date, instead mostly a competition to see which is more obnoxious: Puckerman's tale of stolen waffles, our forced laughter, my hand inching up his thigh, Brittany's interpreting it as a hint for Artie and copying my actions, or the cripple's inability to even notice. A mix of nausea and anger tramples any intentions I have to redeem myself, propelling me out of the booth the instant that Puckerman makes it clear that he will not be paying.

She and I pause by the door, watching Puckerman make a round of the recently-cleared tables to see if he can intercept any cash before the waitress gets to it. My eyes narrow, but I am in no mood for fighting the moral ground against Puckerman. So I turn to her, only vaguely trying to hide my frustration at the entire situation.

"What do you think you're doing?" I whisper angrily. It is less of a question and more of a sarcastic judgment, but as always, she takes the more optimistic of the two.

"The same thing you're doing, San. Standing around and waiting for Noah," she responds, confusion and a few stray hairs falling in front of her eyes. My hand automatically ventures forth, pushing the strands of hair back into place, fingertips brushing against her cheek as I do so. The momentary contact jolts my senses, reminding me that rage has never done anything but push her away from me. I sigh.

"He's not good enough for you, B," I blurt out. "He doesn't know you." …The way I do. My voice turns into a mumble, not wanting to explain myself fully.

The confusion in her eyes fades instantly as I speak, giving way to a sparkle that tells me I have already said too much. Her lips rescind their pout as a smirk forms, guaranteeing my suspicions.

"San, if you wanted me for yourself, you could have just said so," she says, bouncing up onto the balls of her feet happily. Before I can finish relearning how to breathe, she leans over and kisses my cheek lightly. I try to frown at her; we are in a public place and while on the cheek is passable as friendship, I am still paranoid. But the blush that rises makes this impossible, so I smile and nod.

Puckerman gets to the last table and comes up empty, striding over to where Artie is. Of course, Cripples has paid in spite of our less noble intentions and of course, Puckerman takes it as an excuse to take both me and her home. We get into his beat-up Mustang, both of us in the back seat. He turns around, leaning over the passenger seat to smirk at us.

"Your places or mine?" he asks, his lip curling in a disgusting show of lust. I look out the window, thankful that I am sitting directly behind him and therefore, am spared the full effect of his expression.

"My place," she pipes up. I freeze, having thought our conversation changed something. I shoot her a questioning look; I am not enjoying the idea of a threesome in the least. She just winks at me. I nod slightly, still unsure of where this is going but clearly, she has a plan. Puckerman grins and starts driving, setting his radio to an earsplitting volume. I eye the speedometer. It looks particularly illegal, more so than usual. I'm about to point out that he won't get laid if we all end up dead, but a hand on my thigh stops me.

At first, I assume it is her silent way of calming me down and preventing an argument. But I quickly realize that I should know better from the hint of mischief in her eyes. Her fingers tiptoe upwards and slide between my legs, squeezing my inner thigh. I breathe in sharply, eyes darting over to her. She winks and moves her hand a little higher, squeezing again. The touch of her fingertips leaves my skin tingling, trying to cling to the sensation as long as possible.

Through my haze of arousal, I vaguely consider signaling for her to stop. The wetness building between my legs tells me to toss that idea, and I do so gladly, throwing my head back and shutting my eyes. I can sense her smirking at my submittal; she knows more than she needs to about my inability to resist my hormones, and therefore takes any chance possible to exploit it. Not that I'm complaining.

I feel her hand continuing upwards and spread my legs for her, an invitation. She takes the hint and cups me, pressing inwards lightly. Flashes of white light star my vision as I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to hold back a deep moan. The pleats of my Cheerios skirt fall around her wrist, neatly framing the cause of my dizzying pleasure. Two fingers sweep my thong aside and push through my folds, sliding upwards easily and ghosting over my clit. My nails dig into the underside of the car seat as I whimper loudly.

Her fingers freeze, eyes darting over to Puckerman. Thankfully, he shows no signs of having heard and I suspect that his choice in hard-hitting rap swallowed my noise. I lift my hips off the seat into her hand and look over at her, dark eyes willing her to continue. She shakes her head and nods towards the window. We're on her street. She drags one finger across my center and slips her hand out from between my legs. My eyes never leave hers as she opens her mouth and licks her fingers slowly, tongue sliding over my wetness. My teeth sink into my lower lip, forcing back a moan. Clearly, she has mastered the art of teasing, and the sound of Puckerman turning off the car is the only thing that is preventing me from grabbing the front of her uniform and dragging her in for a deep kiss that lets me taste myself on her tongue.

"Ladies? Let's get it going!" He turns around and grins, obviously taking my flushed face for anticipation of the night to come. I purse my lips in disbelief, mildly amused that he has been completely oblivious to what just took place in the back of his car.

"Goodnight Noah!" Brittany announces cheerfully, grabbing my hand and tugging me out of the car.

"Wait, what? Cmon, don't be a tease, Pierce!" he complains loudly, looking over to me for support. I simply close the door and begin walking off with her.

"Lopez? Seriously? That's fucking rude, that is. Cmon. Just a blowjob? You don't even have to swallow!" I roll my eyes and shoot him the middle finger, not turning around. Brittany tsks and places her hand over it, curling it back into my palm. I feel his glare on the back of my neck and sigh. He finally gives up and starts his car, screeching off.

I laugh softly, glad to be left in peace, glad to be left with her. I push my fingers in between hers, safe in the darkness of the night. She looks down at our hands, then up at me, eyes lighting up happily. We skip towards her house, her smile leading the way. I twirl her around the instant we step onto the curb, sensing her need to physically express her joy. She spins effortlessly, a gentle push of air hitting my legs as the pleats on her skirt catch the wind. I am on my tiptoes, smiling as she turns under my arm, fingers loosening their grasp and then tightening as she finishes the spin. I squeeze her hand and pull her in towards me, pressing myself against her beating heart. She tilts her head downwards, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose.

"Boop," she whispers, grinning. A blush overwhelms my already-pink cheeks. Her arms circle around me, holding me safe, a silent promise. I tuck my face into the crook of her neck.

I close my eyes.

_We are nine and she has just discovered the wonders of Lima's newest arcade. I stand behind her, losing count of just how many levels DDR really has. I marvel at the speed with which her toes fly across the platform, never stopping for longer than a fraction of a second. She spins around and stretches her hands out towards me, grinning._

"_Cmon San!" she pleads, fingers wiggling. I frown and shake my head._

"_You're gonna make me look stupid, B!" I cross my arms, pouting. I've known for a while now that it is utterly pointless to try and compete with her when it comes to dance._

"_No, it'll be fun! Pleaseeeee?" she begs. I watch as her forehead crinkles delicately, lower lip pushing out. I grumble under my breath. She knows I cannot resist her pout and always uses this fact to her advantage._

"_Fine. One game. But you have to set it to something easier!" I sigh and offer her my hands. She squeals excitedly and pulls me up onto the platform, hands a shade warmer than my own. I drag my feet, moving towards the screen and squinting at it. She's been playing some variation of triple advanced, the highest level the game offers. I shake my head, halfway impressed, halfway jealous. She begins prodding at the screen, presumably changing the level, but her fingers move just as fast as her feet and I find myself incapable of following. She finishes doing whatever it is she's been doing and I trudge over to my end of the platform. She grabs my hand and pulls me back._

"_No, silly! We're going to dance on the same square! You take that half and I'll take this half, okay?" She smiles innocently, knowing that I will find this more complicated than doing it alone. I roll my eyes. She has always made up for her clumsiness by overachieving when it comes to activities like this one. I'm quite certain that this way of playing the game will result in some sort of trip and fall. But I know she would catch me, so I nod._

_The game proceeds quickly and surprisingly, without any major injuries on my part. I do step on her toes a couple times, momentarily forgetting to ignore her half of the instructions. But we get through it, and receive a fairly respectable score. She laughs and turns to me, hands splayed on her hips._

"_I told you it would be fun!" she says, throwing her arms around me in celebration. Our noses collide and she pulls away, giggling at how I've scrunched up my nose._

"_Boop!" she announces proudly._

"_Wha?" I cock my head at her, wondering if she is once again trying to make animal noises._

"_Boop!" she repeats, smiling with abandon._

"_Mom told me that if you touch someone's nose, you have to say boop!" The concept does not make much logical sense to me, but her smile is distracting me and suddenly I cannot remember why I thought it was odd. I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss her on the nose quickly._

"_Boop."_

_She blushes and giggles softly, nodding._

"_Just like that."_

I open my eyes.

She is looking at me curiously, her palms nestled in the curve of my back.

"Earth to San," she murmurs softly.

"Come back to me." I smile.

"I'm right here," I whisper. I take her hand and pull her towards her house. She follows, rustling around in her purse for keys as we reach the front door. The click of the lock echoes through the sound of our breathing. We step inside, the entire house dark. She closes the door carefully, turning to me and kissing me on the cheek.

"They're asleep, as usual," she whispers, pushing me towards the stairs. I grin, and begin climbing, almost tripping when she squeezes my ass. I reach a landing and spin around, mock-glaring at her. She shrugs innocently.

"San, we're adorable, but I still want to fuck you." Her eyes twinkle mischievously and I find that I cannot climb stairs fast enough. We push through her door impatiently. A hard smack lands on my thigh, warning me that I am about to step on Lord Tubbington. I jump, skin stinging, and step over him, wondering how she saw him in the dark. She gathers him up and sends him trotting outside, locking the door once he leaves.

I am standing at the end of her bed, fingers tracing the curves of the wood in her bedposts. She comes up behind me and presses her body into my back, lips ghosting over my shoulder. I gasp softly and press back into her, needing more of her touch. I can feel her breasts against my shoulder blades and cannot think of anything besides need reigniting between my legs. She places one hand on my shoulder, letting it run down my arm as her other hand teases the zipper on my Cheerio top. I lean my head back and reach out to cup her cheek, kissing her sweetly. The entire room spins as our lips connect.

Maybe it's the fact that I barely touched my food earlier. Maybe it's the fact that we have been carefully avoiding a moment like this for a two weeks that felt endless. And maybe it doesn't even matter, because she is finally, **finally** kissing me and my knees are weak with desire.

My mouth opens slightly, making way for her tongue to enter, a shiver racing down my spine as we taste one another. Her hands sneak underneath my top, fingers dancing across my abs. Our lips pull apart only for her to slide my top off, coming back together before it reaches the floor. I turn in her embrace, draping my arms around her neck, a silent language only she understands. Both arms around the waist: I need you. One arm around the neck and the other around the waist: You are my everything. Both arms around the neck: I am yours.

I can feel her lips press against my forehead, quiet comprehension. She wraps her arms around my waist and lifts me up onto the bed effortlessly, lowering herself between my legs. I reach for the edge of her top but she pushes my hands away, shaking her head. Unwavering blue eyes meet my own, asking. I nod, pulling her down for another kiss, needing the intoxicating, dizzy sensation that her lips give me. The room spins once again and I melt into her body. She pulls away and moves down my neck, her mouth tracing out a delicate pattern on my skin. Soft moans escape my lips, echoing into the darkness. Fingers push underneath me and release my bra, letting it fall to the side.

Between her lips and hands, she covers every inch of my body. My hands are splayed across the sheets, heart thumping loudly, a metronome tapping out the rhythm of her kisses. She presses the tip of her tongue to my hardened nipple, flicking once, twice, three times. I whimper and curl my fingers downwards, desperate to ground myself. The coolness of the sheets barely counteracts the heat of her mouth working around each nipple and I find myself disoriented. I am half-expecting the feeling to be less overwhelming as it continues to wash over me, but I am completely hers, my body reacting to every brush of her fingertips.

I feel the brush of fabric over my thighs as she pulls off both my skirt and thong. Her palms move up my calves and inner thighs, thumbs dragging as she approaches my center. The edge of her tongue traces up each of my folds, carefully teasing. I tense my thigh muscles, needing more and knowing her fingers will pick up the slight movement. A second later, her lips surround me where I need her most, sucking hard. A low moan escapes my lips and I push myself downwards against her. She keeps me between her lips, tongue working quickly, sending waves of pleasure through me. I whimper, hands finally releasing the sheets to grasp the back of her top, tugging gently.

She moves back up on top of me, the fabric of her uniform rough against my skin. I wrap my arms around her and flip us over, smiling as she giggles at the maneuver. The sound of her happiness pushes straight into my heart and I capture her lips once more, hoping my lips will say everything that tangles up in my vocal cords.

My fingers work at the seams of her clothing, quickly removing each item. I let my hands wander over her toned body, biting my lip in arousal. She moans, back arching, yearning for my touch. I trace each of her ribs with my index finger and work upwards, stopping only to let my thumbs sweep over her nipples. She gasps and takes my hand, guiding it down towards her center.

My tongue leaves a slick trail of wetness on her neck as I cup her, tracing through her folds with two fingers. She sucks in a breath and wraps her arms around my neck, looking deep into my eyes. I smile, pressing my lips to hers and sliding my fingers inside her. My lips swallow her moan, smiling gently as she works her hips down, pushing me deeper. We breathe heavily, climbing higher. I feel her getting close and pull my fingers out, earning me a whimper of disapproval. I kiss her again and shake my head. I shift my weight, moving to straddle her thigh while my hand tucks itself under her other leg, guiding it upwards to lean against my chest.

A naughty smile plays across her face as she realizes where I am going with this. She places one hand at the curve of my waist and pulls me down against her, urging me to trust her flexibility. Our centers connect and we both gasp at the contact, heat surging throughout. She immediately grinds up against me, the rush of pleasure leaving me dizzy once more. I feel her roll her hips again insistently and I copy her actions, sliding against her easily. I squeeze my eyes shut, savoring the feeling of having her hot and wet against me. She is desperate for more and moves her hand to palm my ass firmly and pull me harder against her center. Her breath hits my neck every other second, driving me further. We work up to a quick pace, a combination of whimpering and moaning signaling that we are close. She kisses me passionately, slamming her hips against mine one final time and pushing us both far, **far** over the edge. Both our names ring out into the silence as we shudder, clinging to one another tightly.

Our eyes connect, and I smile. She laughs softly, pushing sweaty hair out of my face as we roll onto our sides, bodies still pressed against each other. I cup her face with both hands, looking into her eyes. I don't know what it is I am searching for, but I find it; I find it all.

I lean forward and kiss her deeply, sealing the promise. She smiles against my lips.

I breathe.

She tastes like home.


	6. Then She Is Gone

**A/N; Damn, I got totally blocked after the last one. But kudos to Megan and my Quinntana 1x1 for bringing me back to my Brittana shipper senses. And to one of the comments made, this will follow the canon storyline until the end of Season 2; I am only aiming to bring some backstory and justify some of the smaller moments. Leave me reviews? (: Cheers, Sam.**

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><p>It is 3:49am and I am huddled in the corner of Rachel Berry's basement, nursing a mojito and the tears that are inevitable when I get this drunk. My heartbeat feels like a hammer to my forehead. It slams repeatedly against a jealousy that is quickly curdling into something between rage and anguish. I have seen far too much of her kissing stupid boys, enough to drive me into a dark hole. The images flash across my eyelids with every blink and zoom in on the curve of her smile as she leans in. My hands work like windshield wipers, attempting to wipe my eyes of both the painful memory and my tears. I blink several times and squint at the scene in front of me.<p>

Everyone has either gone home or passed out. Berry's rattling snore is the only interruption to the silence. I glance around, my gaze hovering on her blonde hair spilling across the floor. She is curled up next to the couch and breathing lightly. I can't help but eye her body, breasts more than accentuated by her pink polka-dotted bra. The sight only reiterates the fact that while any mentally-challenged male in the universe can have their hands all over her, I would be thrown into a world of ostracism and hate, even if I touched her with the most tender of hands. Shame forces me to tear my eyes away from her. I run my fingers through my hair and lean my head back against the wall.

I close my eyes.

_We are sixteen and she is leaning her head on my shoulder, overwhelming me with her unconditional affection and the scent of her shampoo. I wonder how she managed to find lemonade-scented shampoo when she was unable to find her bed last night, but now I realize that maybe it had been a excuse to come over and "borrow" mine. I smile warmly, the last note of the song washing over me with a sense of calm and safety._

_It's mushy to think so, but I think maybe, I am desperate to see what is over the rainbow. Maybe. Maybe if it involves her. I look down at her, smiling, and quickly kiss her on the top of her head. A more risky move, but in the safety of Glee and afterglow of Mr. Schue and Puckerman's song, I'm not so scared to show how I feel._

_The bell rings, not quite as jarring as it usually is, and I reluctantly pull away from her._

"_Come over later?" she asks, beaming at me. I blush slightly, nodding. I make my way out of the classroom, finding it difficult to hide the smile. I almost reach the end of the hallway when I find myself slammed up against the wall of lockers, a particularly large lock digging in between my shoulder blades._

"_What the fuck, Q?" I yell out, shoving her off of me. Her entire body is vibrating; she's seeing red and I have absolutely no clue why._

"_Seriously, Quinn, what the fuck? Did Pyramid Nipples try to grab your Christian ass again or something?" I cross my arms, eyes narrowing. She leans in, eyes flashing. I take a step back, uneasy. I've seen Quinn angry before, but this, __**this**__ is rage._

"_Are you __**trying**__ to get us kicked off of the squad, Santana? Hmm?" Her voice is a low hiss, more unsettling than anything I've ever heard before._

"_I- What?" I wrack my brains, trying to figure out what I've done wrong this time. There's always something. Oh Santana, stop talking so loud. Oh Santana, don't dry hump Noah in public. Oh Santana, don't punch blind people in the face. Like I said, there's always __**something**__._

"_You think nobody sees it, don't you? Your disgusting little __**habits **__with Brittany. It's sick, Santana. It's sick and wrong and I can't believe that __**you**__ of all people have managed to succumb to that Satanic lifestyle." My mouth drops open. How did she know? And really? Satanic?_

"_Excuse me, what? Satanic? Getting my mack on is __**not **__sata-"_

"_It goes against God. __**Anything**__ against God is Satanic." She cuts me off with a deathly whisper, her glare burning a hole straight through me._

"_But Q, it's not like that. I promise. It's not. I….__**I love her**__." My voice cracks. It is the first time I have ever admitted it, to myself or anyone else._

_A loud crack sounds through my skull as she slaps me. Flashes of white light stud my vision as I am sent reeling. I stumble backwards, hitting the lockers in my attempt to steady myself._

"_Don't __**ever**__ let me hear you say that again. Straighten yourself out Santana, and soon. I will not have you destroying Brittany's life as well as your own. Brittany is a __**good girl**__. She doesn't need __**trash**__ like you bringing her down."_

_I stare at her._

_Quinn just smoothes down the front of her sundress and leaves._

I open my eyes.

"San? Why are you crying?" She nuzzles into me, her nose tickling my ear. I scoot away from her, turning my head to the side where she can't see my face. She simply gets up and sits on the other side of me, pushing her nose into my ear again. I turn my head once more, but don't bother to move.

"San? What happened? Tell me what happened. Did somebody hurt you? What happened?" Her voice enters my ear impossibly two-sided: mildly comforting but mostly rubbing it in.

"You macking all over Trouty Mouth and McCripplepants, that's what happened!" I blurt out angrily, pushing her off of me and refusing to meet her gaze.

"Wait. What? Really? San…are you jealous? That's so cute!" She giggles, the sound making a mockery of the insanity ripping through my chest. I glare at her and stand up, slamming my drink on the nearby table.

"You know, Britt, I never made fun of **you**. It'd be nice if you could return the favor." My voice drops almost an entire octave, anger rising unbridled within me.

I leave, storming off upstairs. I can hear her footsteps following me and I quicken my pace. Turning corner after corner, I grow frustrated with the complexity of the Berry floor plan, finding nothing but hallways. I stop for a second, attempting to regain control of my heart rate and the rage soaring through me. I only have time to take a breath before I am slammed up against the wall, hard.

"What the **fuck**, San?" Her voice slaps me right in the face.

"What gives **you** the right to get all pissy if I kiss other people when really, it's **you-**" She stabs a finger into the center of my chest.

"When really, it's you who's doing the exact same thing! Or did you forget, you're **dating **Sam. You were **dating **Noah. You fucked all the idiots in this school, and did I ever say a word? Oh no. Sweet little **innocent-**" Her fingernail digs into my chest.

"Sweet little **innocent **Brittany who doesn't understand that her best friend toys her around like a fucking dumbass."

My entire respiratory system has frozen. This is Brittany. Brittany who never gets angry, never gets jealous, and never swears.

"Britt, I-"

"Shut up."

Her icy words force me into a stunned silence. I watch her, terrified. Her face is flushed a deep red and her nose is wrinkled in the way that proves she is completely furious. She considers me for an eternity, startling blue eyes carving through me like knives.

Suddenly, she steps forward and crashes her lips against mine, painfully hard. My hands fly up instinctively, burying themselves in her hair as I respond to the kiss, opening my mouth and letting her tongue push in roughly. I gasp at her aggression, tugging at her hair to get my revenge, but she simply slams me back against the wall again. My back hits the wall with a loud thud and she pins me against it with her hips. Her teeth close down on my lower lip, biting so hard that I am certain I will bleed. I whimper, the pain shooting straight through my buzz and down to the want that is rising between my legs. I drag my nails down her neck, making sure that red lines are left in their wake. A growl falls out of her lips, and she moves from my mouth to my neck, sucking viciously. I let out a low moan, grinding my hips up against her.

She immediately shoves me away, ripping herself from my grasp.

"You're not even worth it," she spits out. She leaves me with one last look, the utter disappointment more cutting than any amount of rage.

Then she is gone.


End file.
